


Strong Drink a Mocker

by Bodldops



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Gen, S3e4 - A War of Nerves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodldops/pseuds/Bodldops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was just looking for a quiet night out with friends she hadn't seen for a while - she wasn't trying to be a hero, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Drink a Mocker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



> A scene-filler for 'A War of Nerves' - poor Sam stands up to a loaded gun held by an even more loaded sapper, and she's clearly expecting rebuke when coming in the next day. Why deny her?

The clock wall ticking is near deafening. Honestly, Sam can’t see a reason for it to be so loud. Of course, while one is at the business of setting that to rights, they could do something with how uncomfortable the guest chair in Foyle’s office is, and the warmth of the air. Sam only just finished reassuring the Sergeant that she was most assuredly going to testify in Jack Archer's defense when word had come that her boss wanted a word.

Foyle hasn’t yet looked up from his perusal of the papers in front of him. Those papers look uncomfortably like a report. She recognizes the name at the top as being the one of the constable who took Jack away the other night.

“And the gun… was surrendered properly?” She nearly starts clean out of the chair at Foyle’s question. Nervously, she twists at the heavy leather of her driving gloves.

“Yes sir, we shan’t be seeing it again.” She explains, wincing at the way her voice warbles, unsure. “I didn’t even know it was loaded. Imagine my surprise when it went off.” 

That earns a pointedly raised eyebrow, and she abruptly falls silent again – it’s something of a relief, actually, it seems she can’t seem to keep from saying things that really aren’t helping. Foyle very quietly closes the file, and leans back in his chair. His gaze is calm, assessing – years she’s been working with him, and she still can’t quite fathom what is going on behind those eyes sometimes.

“It really wasn’t anything special, sir, he was just worked up and had a bit too much for his own good. Needed a firm talking-to and a bit of sympathy, really. He didn’t even threaten. Er.” The expression of disbelief that etches itself onto Foyle’s face makes her backtrack hurriedly. “Much, anyway. And he didn’t really mean it.”

The clock becomes loud again once silence falls, drowning out her perfectly inadequate explanation. Sam does her best not to quail under Foyle’s assessing gaze. 

“Sam?”

“Yes sir?”

“If you could be so kind, try not to get yourself killed by our own side in this war?” Sam’s shoulders slump with relief, and she offers a tentative grin to the wry spark in her boss’s eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam's working theory on why her two passengers are so quiet today is that something serious has come up in the case of the missing supplies, a case that has required some very obviously tedious work - they've been chipping away at this mess diligently for weeks now.. After all, she's driving them back to Talbot’s for a personal visit, rather than sending an officer 'round. Something must be making them curious. Thankfully it isn’t a difficult road this time of the day, with most everyone at work. Of course, her working theory is completely wrong. 

“I heard you offered to be sent to jail.” It’s a good thing she doesn’t startle easily, or she might have driven straight into a wall in shock from that quiet observation from the passenger seat. Milner, behind her, shifts forward with a confused sound that morphs into one of incredulous surprise once he sees the comment wasn’t aimed at him. 

“What, Sam, really?” Milner’s voice is full of bemused surprise and borderline disbelief, and she bristles in response.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? You should have heard it, person after person got up and acted like he was some sort of…”

“Criminal?” Foyle offers, unhelpfully.

“Possible shooter?” Milner adds, and she scowls at the road ahead.

“Well he wasn’t.” She interrupts firmly, “And the magistrate agreed with me. He’s back at duty now, so that’s the end of it.” Clearly she wasn’t as firm as intended, as Milner chuckles behind her and she can see Foyle shaking his head in her peripheral vision. 

“Sam, whatever would we have done if you weren’t around?” Sam can feel herself blushing and it’s only the dry continuation of his comment that keeps her from embarrassment. “I’ve seen how PC Thatcher drives – I doubt I would survive the war if he’s at the wheel.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The aftermath of approaching Gwen is… well. She supposes she ought to be angry, self-righteously angry at that. She’d kept her word, fair and square, and defended Gwen and Jack to boot - in court, even! And what does she get in return? A cold shoulder and a bunch of shouted insults. 

Yes, she ought to be angry.

Instead, she just feels sort of… grey. After all that running about and trying to sort things out, two good men and a whole handful of truly rotten ones are dead, and there’s that nasty cold feeling that maybe, if instead of being a good friend she had been a good police officer, they would have figured out who was behind it all just that little bit faster. She returns to the station after parking the car, ducking her head to avoid the baffled, apologetic gaze of the Desk Sergeant, and then subsequently ducking into an office to avoid running into the unhappy couple occupying her thoughts. She is glad Foyle saw his way to releasing Jack, she did mean everything she said about him being a hero and going to jail in his place, really she did, and she really does wish them all the best. She just doesn’t feel much like being cut down by Gwen’s outraged temper... again. Once the coast is safely clear, she makes her way to Foyle’s office, feeling it might be a safe harbor.

“Sam?” She spins on her heels, surprised by Foyle standing by his filing cabinet, his expression one of surprised concern. She supposes she must look a sight, ducking in like some sort of hunted creature. “Quite alright?”

“Ah, yes sir.” She assures him. When he fails to look at all assured, she grimaces, and shakes her head. “Well, not as well as that.”

“I take it you and Gwen…?” He trails off questioningly. Pretty much everyone in the station was treated to a show of Gwen’s temper.

“I don’t think she believes me, sir – not a terribly good sort of day all ‘round.” Foyle nods, pursing his lips as he considers the whole situation. 

“Right, I think the filing can wait until tomorrow, don’t you? Go fetch Milner, I think we’ve earned a bit of time off. I’ve heard the Regency hotel serves a decent whiskey, which is either a horrible lie or an incredible miracle – we should go investigate it at any road.” Sam blinks at her boss for a long moment, then nods and scurries to obey, his soft chuckle chasing at her heels. 


End file.
